


This isn’t living.

by oathkeptroxas



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Death, Loss, Survival Horror, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6215701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oathkeptroxas/pseuds/oathkeptroxas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was long past time their luck had run out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This isn’t living.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a random plot generator.

It was long past time their luck had run out. They’d been running for weeks, barely dodging hits that just kept on coming, the whole time they’d subconsciously been waiting for the other shoe to just _drop_. The apprehension ate away at them, there was no small reprieve, no moment to stop and take a breath. Run or die. Shoot or die. This isn’t living. Do what it takes to _survive_.

Frantically, they stacked up the barricade, shoving debris and long-forgotten furnishings up against every available entrance, boarding up every possible nook and cranny. The snarling - grunts, spits and gags - was eerily close, echoing from the other side of their shelter, just the haphazard, make-shift fortress between them and the threat. The door shook in its frame, a long rhythmic pounding against the wood had them flinching with every hit.

There had been a herd of them, one moment oblivious and the next in hot pursuit, nipping at their heels as the boys ran for all they were worth. Their lungs were burning and heaving in their chests, the gasping pants of their panicked breaths filled the space between them. Their eyes remained on the main doorway, the furniture quaking with each attempt to dislodge it from the other side. 

The creatures were merciless, savage and nonsensical, bashing their heads and bodies against the outside of the shelter as if they had any hope of entry, groans that could never quite be words permeated the air, and the pungent stench of rotting flesh and bloodshed lingered, it clung to everything. The world was grime and filth and gore, every single place overtaken by the harsh reality of not-quite-death. People who were once full of energy and potential and prospects, now were nothing but their unquenchable desire to feed, to tear apart limb from limb and devour.

Minutes passed in tense almost-silence. Roy and Jason stood with their gazes never leaving the door, their guns were raised, their trigger fingers at the ready. Their entire demeanor screamed that they were ready and willing to _fight_. In his peripheral, Roy could see the splatter of vermilion marring his forearm, the further speckles of it that could almost be mistaken among his freckles, the red was harsh against his porcelain skin.

Slowly, as time ticked by, they began to relax, the sounds faded, the crashing stopped, the grunts echoed further away and eventually dissipated completely. The survivors looked over at each other, a quick glance and brief eye contact that helped solidify that they’d made it.

“ _Fuck_.” Jason breathed. He tipped his head back and stared at the grime marked ceiling, damp and mold made up it’s spotted design. He shoved his gun back into his waistband and rolled his shoulders to relieve some tension.

Roy let out a breath, long and deep and bordering on a sigh of sheer, unadulterated _relief_. He dropped to the floor, as if he was suddenly unable to hold up his own weight. This was as good a place as any to rest up for the night. Their labored breathing slowly tapered off as they regained control of themselves. Jason scrubbed the back of his hand over his cheek to clean it of a gruesome splatter. 

As the adrenaline began to drain away, Roy became acutely aware that something was wrong. Awareness started to creep in, the feelings that he’d previously shut off in the name of self-preservation were hitting him full force, and his mind was in the process of catching up on the details. The pain hit him suddenly and he reached a hand up to find the source, his fingertips brushed the sticky, hot, jagged edge of a wound he hadn’t even been aware he’d gained. Everything had happened so fast.

Before he could voice his find, Jason was there, knelt beside him, teal eyes full of concern. He reached a hand up to exam his partners injury and Roy grasped his wrist to stop him, but it was too late. Jason fell back, his tailbone collided hard to the concrete with a slap that made Roy wince in sympathy, but Jason seemed oblivious to it, his gaze was locked on the nape of Roy’s neck, and the indisputable chunk that had been taken out of it, the bite was clear, unmistakable.

Jason’s lips formed the whispered “ _No_ ,” without him even being aware that he’d made a sound.

Roy tried to shrug, his eyes were downcast and his shoulders were hunched. “Luck had to run out some time,” He lamented, as if this wasn’t his final hour.

Abruptly, Jason got to his feet, and he paced the small shelter. Roy’s eyes tracked his every motion, watched Jason’s grief unfold as the younger boy grasped at his dark hair. He muttered low under his breath, broken up words that Roy couldn’t distinguish. Suddenly, Jason slammed a fist hard into the barricade and let out a guttural cry, the sound was pain-filled and helpless, laced with a desperate frustration. Roy jumped to his feet immediately, wrapped his strong arms around Jason’s waist and hauled him away before he could land another hit.

“Jay! Stop!” He hissed, “They’ll hear you! We just got rid of them!”

Jason struggled in Roy’s grasp, he gave a few sharp thrashes in protest before the fight seeped from him, and he slumped in his partner’s hold. His eyes were clenched shut and a whimpered sob broke free from his throat, “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he rasped.

Roy inhaled sharply, and gripped Jason by his shoulders, turned him so they were face to face. He shook the other boy. “Of course it does! You don’t fucking get to give up!”

Jason’s eyes shot open, and there was a fire in his irises. He glared at Roy, but there was a soft sadness to his features that stopped his trademark, murderous temper from winning out completely. He peered at his companion with an expression of such desolate, devastated desperation that Roy felt Jason’s pain resonate like a phantom twinge in the hollow of his own chest. 

“I don’t think I can do this.” Jason confessed, his eyes were brimming with tears that he stubbornly refused to spill. He wondered if Roy had any true comprehension of what he was expecting. He wondered if Roy knew how much this would destroy Jason, hollow him out so there was nothing to be salvaged.

“We promised that we’d never let each other become something that we’re not.” Roy breathed, he leaned forward so the tip of his nose skimmed Jason’s. The bite was pulsing, throbbing with pain and still bleeding heavily. Roy was beginning to feel lightheaded, and he knew they had little, precious time on their hands before he was lost to its effects. “Remember?”

Of course Jason remembered. How could he have forgotten? And in that moment he wished more than anything in his life, that he’d never taken that vow. But, he owed Roy this. There was one final thing he could do in Roy’s name, one final act. It would break his heart into microscopic pieces, but he’d promised. If ever there was a time to let Roy down, this wasn’t it.

“But...” Jason began, his voice sounded small even to his own ears. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling so helpless. “What-...What will I do?” _Without you_ was left unspoken, but Roy could hear it. It came out in a broken sob.

Roy’s eyes were red-rimmed and stinging, there was a burning sensation behind his ribs and a lump in his throat he couldn’t swallow. He needed to be strong, he grappled with his self-control, tried in vain to maintain his composure. This needed to happen. And he had to make this as easy on Jason as possible.

With a deep, hitching breath in, Roy pressed a kiss to Jason’s forehead, as light as butterfly wings, “You’re a survivor, babe,” he whispered against the skin.

Jason grasped his pistol, withdrew it from his jeans. His hands shook, but from this range it wouldn’t make a difference. His eyes were squeezed shut, and fat tears forced their way from beneath his clenched lids, from this distance it didn’t matter, and there was no way he could watch this happen.

He brought up the firearm, felt the lingering caress of Roy’s fingertips to the inside of his wrist. His finger came to rest on the trigger, and squeezed.


End file.
